


Wish I knew you more, wish I knew you less

by Teethteethteethteethteethteethteeth



Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys - My Chemical Romance (Album), The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys: California (Comics)
Genre: Gen, Radio Crew, They are children your honor, different from my usual canon, poison has a crush on cherri but nothing comes of it, uhhhh, yea thats abt it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-18 17:07:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28621524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teethteethteethteethteethteethteeth/pseuds/Teethteethteethteethteethteethteeth
Summary: An alternate take on my killjoy backstories, featuring the Venom Siblings and Cherri :)
Relationships: Agent Cherri Cola & Kobra Kid (Danger Days), Agent Cherri Cola & Party Poison (Danger Days), Kobra Kid & Party Poison (Danger Days)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 11





	Wish I knew you more, wish I knew you less

You’ve known the boy with the steady hands since you first made it out to the real world, since the day he rescued you and your brother. A perfect shot and a confident smile, and the Exterminator went down. He took your hand and whisked the two of you off to the station you’ll learn to call home. 

< hr />

It’s startling, realizing he’s barely a year older than you, and already so accustomed to this world of violence and color, three painted soda tops pinned to his jacket. You ask about them, one day, as he paints your nails (one hand black, like his, and one hand yellow, the color your brother’s taken to dying his hair). He pauses a moment, taking your hand in both of his as he trails your fingertip across the caps. 

_One each for someone I cared about_ , he says, and you realize he knows what loss is like in a way you don’t. Not yet.

* * *

There are others living at the station, a man with the longest hair you’ve ever seen, and a person who never shows their face, hidden behind a heavy motorcycle helmet. Your brother grows up to mirror that, blocking out the constant light of the desert. But for now, you stick close to the boy— _Cherri Cola_ , he says his name is. You’d thought it was Newsie, those first few days, the name carved into his bedroom door. The expression he made when you said the name was something you never want to see again, like you’d taken your hands and torn his soul in two, left him drowning like a fish out of water. It takes a while for him to collect himself after that, running his fingers over the pink bottlecap on his jacket until they bleed. 

The next day, he smiles at you, fragile and genuine, and tells you his name. You never make the mistake again. Eventually, he tells you about the girl who the bedroom belonged to, about the sister who left him too soon.

* * *

You ask him to teach you to shoot, anxiously fiddling with the blaster you’d found, and he calmly pries it out of your hands, expression serious. _Lesson one: don’t point a loaded blaster at your head_. You’re more shaken by your mistake than he is, so he gives you the half-empty package of candy he’s been saving in his pocket for months. It’s stale and chewy, your first-ever taste of sugar. You eat the candy slowly, as Cherri teaches you how to aim and fire the first of many weapons you’ll wield in your lifetime. 

It turns out, despite Cherri’s deadly accuracy with a lasergun, he’s a terrible teacher. So instead, it’s Doctor Death-Defying who teaches you, as Cherri plays with your brother, too young to learn, in the yard.

You learn fast, and Dr. D’s expression is grim as he congratulates you, just weeks later, on your progress. That evening you take Cherri out to the cans you’ve lined up on a flat rock, and you shoot them off, one by one. You’re looking for Cherri’s praise, and so it’s his words you hear, not the funeral-bell tone with which he says them. _Good job, Poison_.

* * *

Cherri and the others are running out of excuses to keep you from joining him on runs. It’s with resignation that he finally lets you join him, and so the two of you wait until your brother’s gone to bed, and slip out the back door. There’s no reason to leave in tense, sneaky silence, but you do regardless. Cherri looks guilty, and only later do you realize it’s because he’s brought you along. Your excitement drains away in the silence, as Cherri drives.

The mission goes wrong before you even make it out of the Zone, spotted by a Drac patrol and followed, not knowing you’re being corralled until the last second, backed up against against a canyon wall, the two of you against countless mindless soldiers. 

You follow Cherri out of the truck, hands shaking as you ready your blaster. He doesn’t notice you’re with him until a Drac fires at you mid-clap, and then, there’s only a moment between the look of surprise on his face, and the bullet hitting his leg. He falls with a shriek of pain, and you blanch. You’ve never seen a traditional gun before, one with bullets instead of laserblasts, and now you’re faced with both, alone. You only barely know about the Witch, but you mutter off a prayer to Her as you close your eyes and begin to shoot. 

That works about as well as you might expect it to, what with the whole _eyes closed_ thing, and when you peel them back open, there’s bullet holes and laser blasts riddling the side of the truck around you. You’re miraculously unscathed, but so, too, are the Dracs. 

Cherri tugs at your sleeve, and he’s a mess. His face is smeared with blood in the shape of his hand, and he’s crying, just a bit. 

_Help_ , he whispers, and you bend down to pull him up, just barely missing a bullet where your head had been. Later, Cherri will swear to you it was the Witch who protected you both. You’ll gesture to him, with an expression that says, _protected?_. He’ll turn away. 

But now, leaning heavily against you, he raises his blaster in a single steady hand, and fires. You’re so caught up watching that you barely feel the blaster wound burn across your shoulder, barely understand when he shoves you away, yelling, 

_Get the radio!_

* * *

Some killjoys in the area— _real_ killjoys, not like you’d fancied yourself, came and saved you, Cherri tells you. You’d passed out from fear and pain in the cab of the truck after dialing for help, leaving Cherri all on his own to hold off the Dracs. You don’t know how he did it. You don’t ask.

**Author's Note:**

> Leave a comment below, and come find me on tumblr @wishiwasthemoon-tonight!
> 
> I might continue this story,,,


End file.
